Hardbound
by hAzypUrplE
Summary: When someone paints a new girl into the finished picture, how will the puzzle pieces fall into place? Was it possible that there was one last, great Wizarding secret left uncovered?


**A/N: this is my first fanfic, so could you do me a huge favor and R & R? that would just completely make my day!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter , nor do I own any of the characters written by J.K. Rowling. If I did, don't you think I would have written this a long time ago?**

**Copyright: I own the plot and any other made-up characters I manage to conjure up out of thin air. So, yeah, no stealing. Uh…please..?**

**\\-hAyZzYpUrRplE-/**

**-Ginny's POV-**

I don't know with anybody else…

…but this was _not_ the happiest place to live in.

Honestly, you would be hard pressed to find a place this depressing. Elf heads mounted on the wall as decoration, paintings of people who screeched bloody murder every time they come across a human being, a gaunt-faced convicted murderer on the run from magical law; you've got to admit they didn't exactly make for a cheery home.

It just made me miss the Burrow even more; sure, it wasn't the most lavish of houses, draped in Chinese silk and cast in marble, but it was home. Our pockets didn't exactly jingle with the sound of clanking gold, if you get my drift, and we made the best of what we had. But come on, even the crooked, barely-standing Burrow was much, much better than here, where generations and generations of evil, malicious wizards sat around doing You-Know-Who's bidding and burning gold.

The company didn't particularly help the overall atmosphere of the place either. You see, they weren't exactly cheery people themselves. I mean, you've got Sirius, renowned fugitive, who just spends most of his days sulking about not being able to go out; there's Fred and George, I guess, and they're nothing if not chronically (and somewhat abnormally) jolly, but they're spending so much time in their room that hardly anybody gets to see them, which of course is driving Mum over the edge, convinced that they're cooking up illegal substances (don't tell her this, but she's actually right); and then we have Ron, who spends half of his days grumbling about how he's being turned into a house-elf with all of this cleaning they're making him do, and then the other half trying to pathetically defend himself from Hermione when she gets all worked up and lashes out with some SPEW nonsense. I mean, the girl's one of my best friends, and Ron's my closest brother, but if those two don't stop bickering sometime soon, I'm going to have to stuff them in a closet and weld the door shut with one of Dad's odd muggle devices.

Apart from them, the house was as dead as a mausoleum. Order members flit in and out now and again, though they never really do stay long enough for them to actually _do_ anything; I suppose Tonks comes over from time to time, and she's always a laugh when she transforms into Snape and we try bombarding his greasy hair with shampoo and extra-strength conditioner (the results were nothing short of ghastly), but she's never here often enough to snap anybody out of their gloomy disposition. Not to mention the fact that whenever she's here, Mum gets really flustered and starts following her around, probably to make sure she didn't knock anything else down.

Lupin comes over every other day, mainly to check on Sirius and make sure he was still somewhat sane. Fred and George have tried a couple of times to get him to reminisce about his days as one of the legendary troublemakers-in-chief at Hogwarts, or maybe ask him about how it feels turning into a bloodthirsty werewolf once a month, but he was always so tired and weary that after a while, the twins just gave up. And a few weeks back, he left us these thick, dusty books on charms and jinxes, and we were having fun testing them on each other (even Sirius stopped by to watch George turn Fred's nose into a cantaloupe) before Hermione went all adult and responsible about it and confiscated them.

Besides the intensive cleaning and the obsessive worrying over how the Wizarding World was crumbling, I had an amazing amount of time on my hands. Back at the Burrow, I spent my summer vacation sneaking Bill's or maybe Charlie's old broom out for a quick fly around the garden. Sometimes, I even got as far as the Lovegoods without getting caught. Now, with nothing to do, I had resorted to borrowing Hermione's tattered, well-read copies of a few muggle classics. For half a day, I would smuggle a chocolate chip cookies (Mum's way of occupying her time: cooking) up to my bedroom, curl up in the ratty old armchair by a blocked fireplace or a rickety bed and get lost in the world of muggle fiction.

And now, halfway through the summer holidays, I was already finished with most of Shakespeare's works (yes, I had _that_ much time), leafed through a few chapters of Bronte and was working my way through Jane Austen, wishing _that_ something interesting would happen to _my_ life (please note the heavy sarcasm), when two red-haired someones Apparated with a deafening pop at the foot of my bed.

"Hey, Gin, you wan—"

"Don't you ever do that again!" I bellowed, swinging Sense and Sensibility around to smack Fred straight on the face. "You know it's creepy enough that Kreacher just appears out of nowhere—"

"Relax, sis," Fred said, rubbing the end of his nose—or what used to be his nose. "And cantaloupe or not, that still hurts."

"Anyway, we just came to ask if you wanted to try sneaking a peek downstairs," George said, sitting himself a good distance away from me and my suddenly wand-wielding arm. "That's a pretty big meeting brewing down there, and if we can't get the Ears through the door, we're bound to get something good while they're crowding around in the hallway."

A resounding crash echoed through the house, along with a few shouted apologies and the sound of Mrs. Black screeching profanities at the nearest person.

"Guess Tonks is here," Fred said brightly, picking up Pride and Prejudice from where it fell on the floor. He examined its cover and flipped idly through the dog-eared pages before staring up at me, absolutely stunned. "You're _reading_ this? It's enough that we have _one_ Hermione, but I think two of them is much too—"

I snatched it from his grip and stuffed it into my pillowcase. Hermione would kill me if I get a single page ripped. Or, you know, covered in some uncharmable, hideous looking gunk, which is what was likely to happen if it was in one of the twins' possession for longer than a second. "None of your business. _I'm_ bored. _You_ obviously aren't." I glared pointedly at the numerous pus-filled boils coating Fred's arm. "Mum _will_ kill you when she sees that. She told you to get rid of all the Wheezes joke products."

"I forgot about that," George muttered, pulling a small yellow tub out of his back pocket and tossing it to his identical twin. "Found this hidden under the gunpowder barrels. Just dab it on." He stuffed his hand back into his pocket and fished out a small, tangled bunch of stretchy, flesh colored string.

"So…you in?" he whispered, dangling the Extendable Ear in front of me. I took the offered Ear and watched with curiosity (and slight disgust) as Fred scooped out a glob of garish green goo and slapped it onto his forearm, while George sat at the edge of my bed, pretending to asphyxiate at the revolting aroma of rotten bacon and gasoline that was floating around the room.

"I might as well." I carefully marked my page and jammed the book into my pillow, where it joined the rest of Jane Austen's collection. Reluctant as I was to leave the story hanging where it was (which wasn't a very interesting part of the story at all, I'm afraid), this was about as much excitement as I could possibly get out of this situation, so I wasn't particularly picky about how I spent my time. No use turning this down.

As I followed them out of the bedroom, a droning buzz of conversation greeted my ears, along with very familiar sound of the troll leg umbrella stand being knocked over. Glancing at the twins, I scampered quickly down the stairs and into the shadow of a giant vase, well hidden from anybody's immediate line of sight.

Once we reached the hallway on the first floor, our footsteps became little more than tiptoes. We creeped across the corridor and towards the banister, carefully avoiding the creaky plank and the loose banister rail. By then, most of the crowd had disappeared into the dining room, leaving behind a small group of wizards standing by the door.

We waited in silence for a moment, watching Mum quietly bustle wizards in through the door, before I heard one of the twins' voice call out from their perch a few feet away.

"Lower your Ears!" George—or maybe Fred—whispered. With practiced ease (I've lost count of how many times the Ears had gotten us through many a dull night of having absolutely nothing to do), we slowly lowered the Extendable Ears over the void and into the (hopefully) unsuspecting group conferring feverishly below us. When they were close enough for us to hear the voices as clear as if we'd been standing in the middle of the room, I pressed my face against the railing, trying to see what was happening through the gaps in the wood.

Several Order members had gathered in the entrance hall, cloaks fastened and broomsticks at the ready. They were all talking excitedly amongst themselves; Dedalus Diggle looked almost beside himself with eager anticipation. In a dark corner, a little bit away from the rest of the group, Tonks and Lupin leaned against the dark, velvety wall, discussing something that was making Tonks blush furiously, her hair rapidly flushing a deep shade of scarlet before it morphed back into the violet that usually colored her locks. Mad-Eye, on the other hand, was hunched over the table, intently examining an old yellowed map of England, occasionally jabbing his wand at a red spot pinned over somewhere in Surrey.

"—everybody have their orders?" Moody whispered, turning back to the crowd, who had silenced completely at the sound of his voice. His electric blue eye whizzed around in its socket, jumping from face to face, and finally settled down to stare at Tonks, who didn't look in the least like she was paying attention.

"Yes, Mad-Eye, I think we ought to have memorized it by now," Tonks said, tugging at the bright purple strands of hair hanging in front of her face.

Lupin stole a glance in her direction before clearing his throat. "All right, everyone knows their signals—"

"Are you sure Harry's going to be all alone in that muggle house of his?" Hestia Jones called out from across the room. "Won't his relatives be a bit hassled when we show up unannounced? From what Arthur told us about his visit, they don't seem at all happy about the idea of wizards in their house."

Tonks threw Lupin a smug smile from behind the curtain of hair that obscured her face. "I took care of that, don't worry. By the time we get there, they'll be well on their way to Edinburgh for some nonexistent garden competition or something. And by the time they get back, Harry'll be miles away."

Sturgis Podmore stepped out of the shadows, pocketing something slithery and invisible. "How are we going to get him here again? I don't believe the boy's old enough to Apparate, and we don't have the proper authority to arrange a Portkey without being caught—"

"I believe Harry owns a broom of his own," Lupin answered. I don't think the word 'broom' actually does justice to what Sirius had given Harry for Christmas; surely a Firebolt was much, much more than just a 'broom'? I could hear the tiniest hint of pride in Lupin's voice as he continued, "He couldn't have been more like James, an absolute natural at Quidditch. If anything, he can certainly fly, and his broomstick is well up to the task, so I don't believe we'll have any trouble getting him here."

"Yes, we've spent quite enough time jabbering away," Moody said, lifting up his pocket watch to make a point. I noticed that every single day he spent here, he gets just a little more agitated. That might have been because Fred and George kept replacing his wand with their newly developed trick wands, and whenever he tried to do the simplest of spells, they turned into rubber ducks that quacked noisily at anybody passing by. "Now, unless you all want to just stay here talking about a plan you're _all supposed to know by now_—"

"Mad-Eye, you made the plan up five minutes ago—"

"—I suggest we put said plan into action—"

"I still don't see why I can't go," Sirius grunted. I hadn't noticed him standing there; he was leaning against the doorway with his arms folded across his chest, a dark look settling into his face. Even though I knew he was completely innocent, with an expression that scary, it was still so easy to picture him as a murderer. The long black tendrils framing his sunken face, the ripped clothing and the prison tattoos—it was the permanent image of Sirius Black in my head, the one that had been on the cover of the Daily Prophet two years ago. The face of the man I had been absolutely convinced was a bloody killer. And now—now I live in his house. It's all kind of—well, okay, completely—messed up.

"Because Dumbledore told you not to," Kingsley prompted, in his deep, always eerily calm voice. "You know it's risky for you—"

"Don't bother arguing with us, Sirius," Moody growled. "Take it up with Dumbledore if you don't like the way we operate. This is for your own safety."

"To hell with my safety—"

"Sirius. You know why you can't go."

"Remus, don't say I—"

"I'm not saying anything. You know why we can't risk you being seen."

"Why, then? Because I'm such a valuable asset? It's not like I'm doing anything, Remus. All I did was give the Order a house."

Nobody could have missed the bitter tone that coated every one of Sirius' words.

"Come on, Sirius, just let it go."

"Stay out of this, Tonks." Sirius shot her a nasty look and pushed her hand away. Tonks shrank back against the wall, her face bearing no trace of the humor that seemed to have been charmed permanent on her. Lupin opened his mouth to speak, but catching sight of Sirius' face, he sealed his lips tight and gritted his jaw in frustration.

"We don't have the time for this! You're an adult, Sirius. This isn't a game you and James used to play. Potter's life may hang in the balance. Now stop being immature and suck it up. We all have a job to do," Mad-Eye yelled. For one fleeting moment, everybody stood still, unsure of what to do next. Sirius glared at Moody, and Moody's one normal eye glared right back, and with one swish of a cloak, the moment had passed, everybody had gone, and all that was left of the scene was Sirius, so angry he could have been breathing fire.

Well, that and an all-too-visible bunch of Extendable Ears dangled over the railings.

I heard Fred's panicking voice right around the same time I caught sight of my Mum's face. "Pull 'em back, pull 'em back!"

When I noticed Mum whip out her wand, I reeled in the Ear as fast as I could manage, but we were all a second too late; as the Extendable Ears slithered out from beneath our fingers and into the waiting hands of our mother, a loud, ear-splitting shriek drowned out the sound of the twins' flustered scuffling.

"FRED AND GEORGE! YOU COME DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"

If you haven't figured it out, that was Mum, by the way. Eyes like a hawk.

George stared horrified at Fred, with a face that simply said 'what do we do now?'. It wasn't a face you often saw on the twins; this was a face only Mum could have brought out. Without saying a word, Fred nodded, and with a thundering crack, both of them disappeared into thin air, moments before reappearing again at the foot of the stairs, their heads bowed in shame as they turned to face the dragon lady our mother had just turned into.

When Mum got started, absolutely nothing could stop her; neither Killing Curses nor complete lack of breath can hold back the woman when her legendary horns started jutting out of her hair. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, MESSING AROUND WITH THESE AGAIN—"

Before anybody could notice, I scurried down the stairs, carefully edging my way past Mum, who was completely red-faced and trembling with anger, and sidling down the corridor towards Sirius. He was still rooted in place, staring at the spot where Mad-Eye had been, his jaw gritted and his arms so tightly knotted that the veins snaking up his arm grew much more defined against his pallid skin.

"Um. Sirius? Where are they going?" Simple enough question. Not likely to elicit a very terrifying reply from a man reported to have murdered thirteen muggles and a wizard who turned out to be my brother's rat. Of course, I knew he hadn't done it, but the thought of it still gave me the shivers sometimes.

"Out," he ground out, the muscle in his jaw jumping like mad. I decided to leave it at that. I'd heard enough to put the pieces all together. I didn't have any need to aggravate him even further.

Seeing no reason to torture myself even more by staying in the place that could give hell a run for its money (slightly demonic she-devil yelling at a pair of troublemakers, would-have-been murderer looking just about mad enough to kill; it's sort of obvious), I traipsed across the hallway towards the dining room. But before I could my hand could make it to the doorknob, I threw a glance over my shoulder. Sirius had not moved an inch, his face screwed up in pain. With a sudden surge of pity, I trudged back towards him.

Poor guy. I know it wasn't easy for him, being trapped here in a house he hated. It was a bit unfair, when you think about it: I mean, first the bloke gets sent to Azkaban, wrongly imprisoned for killing his best friend, something his other, backstabbing best friend had done; then he waits thirteen long years, finds out that said best friend is about to kill his godson, and escapes from the most heavily guarded prison in the world; and after he makes sure that Harry was still alive and well, Sirius spent a year on the run, surviving on rats and leftovers he found in dumpsters, forced to live life as a shaggy dog that looked uncannily like the omen of death; _and then_, right when he's finally somewhat free, Dumbledore forces him to live here, the place where he ran away from as a kid, the home of the family he so despised.

At least, that's what I've heard.

"Sirius?" I whispered tentatively. "Sirius, are you okay?"

I had to be careful; I didn't know Sirius well enough to possibly predict how he's going to react. Maybe the years in Azkaban had rendered him a tad bit unstable?

"Sirius…look, I know you're feeling horrible right now. It won't help if you keep dwelling on it."

He didn't respond. Not that I expected him to. His eyes, scrunched up in anguish, followed the trail of a tiny dust particle floating by his head, and his fingers dug into his arm, leaving sharp wrinkles in the velvety fabric. I took a deep breath and continued, staring at anything but his tormented face.

"Don't take your anger out on anyone else; it's not their fault. And you know Dumbledore has good reason to keep you here. It's not a—a punishment or anything. It's not like he's doing this just to watch you suffer. He's trying to keep you safe. I mean, Dumbledore _is_ brilliant, you know, so he must think that this is the best option for you right now. Trust him."

Sirius let out a growl at the sound of Dumbledore's name, and he looked down at me with cold, black, unfathomable eyes. "How do you know you should trust Dumbledore? Do you really know him so well?"

I returned his gaze right back, somehow uncovering a hidden reserve of bravado somewhere my fearful and slightly nauseous brain. "I don't know you very well either, and I trust you, don't I?"

I was so completely occupied by the minuscule details of his anguished face—there was just something about it that scared the wits out of me—that I hadn't noticed the loud peal of thunder almost shatter the windows, or the cold, gusty wind that came bursting into the room from out of the blue, almost drenching me with flying rain; and I almost, _almost_ didn't notice my mother practically bowling over me in her hurry to get to the door. Though it _was_ kind of hard to _not_ notice, I guess, what with the little breath I had having been knocked right out of my lungs.

Before my brain could fully register all the things that simultaneously disturbed my immediate surrounding, I found myself sprawled on the carpet, breathing in bucketfuls of dust and blinking up at a pair of glinting half-moon spectacles and a long, silvery beard.

"Oh, Albus, come in, come in—"

Numbly, I felt Fred and George take my arms and pull me into a debatably upright position. After taking several deep breaths, trying in vain to clear away the dust that had settled in the inside of my throat, I gently rubbed my eyes, making the fuzzy vision just that much worse.

"Speak of the devil," I heard Sirius mutter darkly. It wasn't hard to guess who was at the door.

According to the shape I could make out through the blinding light, Albus Dumbledore was standing in the doorway, tall and towering, his dark robes fluttering impressively in the gusty wind blowing through the open door. There was something wrong with his shady outline, though; something odd and angular sticking out of the sides of his silhouette. I blinked away the blurriness and squinted; in Dumbledore's arms was a tall, slender form, unconscious and ghostly pale.

It was a girl, I think; about my age, maybe older. Long, glossy billows of blonde hair swung like a satin curtain over her face, hiding it from view. No, she wasn't wearing robes, either; she was wearing a thick, drenched denim jacket over a white polo and a short, pleated mini, what I recognized—from Hermione's muggle photographs of her childhood—to be a school uniform. Her arms were curled protectively over a thick, blue hardbound. I could barely make out the title etched in gold onto the spine…

As soon as I read the first word—Phoenix—Dumbledore stepped forward, a grave twinkle in his ancient eyes. I heard everybody's breath hitch as the girl's head flopped lifelessly over Dumbledore's grip, revealing her face. Her eyes were fluttering shut, and her mouth was slightly ajar. There was a sickly greenish tinge to her sallow skin, and a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead glimmered dully in the grayish light. Horrified, I brought my hand to my mouth to stifle the gasp that threatened to come out as a single thought drifted into my mind; she wasn't dead, was she?

I took the temporary hush to scrutinize her features. She wasn't anybody in the Order, that much I was sure of; I had most of the members memorized by now, and anyways, they didn't induct underage wizards into the Order yet. Not even Harry, the great Boy-Who-Lived was in the Order of the Phoenix.

She looked like she could be Hogwarts age, though; but I'm absolutely certain I've never seen her before. Perhaps she was from Ravenclaw, or maybe Hufflepuff? I already knew everyone from Gryffindor; and she didn't look like the Slytherin type, there was too much decency and visible dignity in her face for that to be even remotely possible.

I could feel the question burning in everybody's head: who was this girl?

"Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore murmured. He gestured towards one of the twins with a wave of his hand. "Would you be so kind as to fetch your father from the dining room?"

Fred nodded solemnly and, with a fleeting look at his twin, vanished into thin air. I glanced towards Mum, slightly expecting another outburst, but she didn't seem to have noticed anybody else at all; she stepped forward and grabbed the girl's arm, helping Dumbledore set her on the floor. All of the fiery rage had disappeared completely; I could almost hear the grinding whirr in her head as her maternal instincts kicked in. Gently, she laid the girl's head on her lap and automatically started stroking the top of her head.

With a small flourish of Dumbledore's wand, the door slammed shut behind him, leaving the room in utter quiet.

"Who is she, Albus?" Mum mumbled, tucking stray strands of hair back behind the girl's ear. We all looked expectantly up at Dumbledore, who was staring intently at the girl's face; the concentration burning in his eyes was enough to bore a hole through her head. Everybody was silent, waiting in anticipation for some sort of explanation.

"We will find out in a moment," he answered after a moment, absentmindedly shaking his head. "We need her alert and conscious. Sirius, if you could—?"

I had almost forgotten that Sirius had been in the room. I took a quick look at his face; his expression had rearranged itself from irritation into something less recognizable: curiosity, perhaps? Without even stopping to glare, as I expected him to, he strode forward and in one swift motion, he swooped down and scooped the girl up into his arms. He steadied himself for a moment, making sure his grip on the girl was secure, before turning to Dumbledore.

"First floor, second door to the right," Dumbledore replied, as if having read his mind. Which, now that I think about it, he probably did.

Sirius gave a grim nod, but just as he was about to take a step towards the staircase, the girl's head shot up, her eyes wide open in alarm, her book sliding to the floor with a resounding thud that seemed to echo around the room, shaking everybody out of their stupor.

All heads snapped towards her, but I'd have to say that the direction was not only aimed at the newcomer, but to Sirius, who, since attempting to take a step, remained motionless, eyes trained towards the girl with a look I couldn't identify. If anything were to happen, it'd be involving Sirius. With her in his arms, he literally held the answer to the questions undoubtedly swimming in each of our heads.

Yet before anyone could take a reaction out of either Sirius or Dumbledore, the girl took in a breath, and without warning, spoke out loud, aiming the one-worded question at Sirius, who, out of everyone else in the room, had the most befuddled look on his face.

"Sirius?"

**\\-hAyZzYpUrRplE-/**

**-Author's Note-**

**Oh, and my friend bloody-splat-on-the floor helped a lot on this too! She's mainly on the Max Ride fics, so she isn't very well known in this network, but you guys oughtta check her out. You know, when you guys are bored and all, which is why a lot of people go to fanfic anyway. Since you're reading this, I suppose I should be grateful for that, huh? and I'm rambling, so on to the second chapter!**


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